The Devil's Hour
by At Loose Ends
Summary: "To go forward, dear Hermione, we must first go back …" When Hermione Granger is visited by an alternate version of herself, the odds soon turn against her. But, when tasked with saving the enemy; Will she fight for what she believes, or will she fall into the hands of darkness?
1. things that go bump in the night

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**Disclaimer: If I did own Harry Potter and the rest of the franchise, I would certainly have built Hogwarts and make it a real school for people to go to. Therefore, many of you wouldn't be waiting around for your enrolment letters, like I still am …**

* * *

It was the night before Bill and Fleur's wedding. Hermione guessed the time to be around 2 in the morning, yet sleep still hadn't come to her. Her stare drifted from the crooked ceiling to the miles of marshland outside the frosted window; the misshapen house fitted the odd and eccentric personality of the Weasely family. There had been no rain or wind that evening allowing the moon to shine twice as brightly; the stars scattered like flint sparks across the still night sky. No matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn't shake the uneasy feeling the previous night's dream had given her; her nights had been restless ever since. Though she could probably whip out another dreamless sleep potion, guzzle down the ghastly content and hope for the best, tonight, something in the room's shadowy darkness kept her wary and unwilling. With heavy limbs, she made her way from the bed to the wardrobe; being careful not to wake a sleeping Ginny in her bed opposite. Silently pulling out a dressing gown, Hermione begun a leisurely trek down to the kitchen where, she hoped, a warm mug of cinnamon milk may put to rest her recent insomnia.

Waving her wand the lights in the kitchen dimmed until setting a comforting glow across the surfaces and walls. She rummaged around trying to find the ingredients while attempting to make as little noise as possible. Hermione found it rather therapeutic stirring the creamy concoction upon the stove; sometimes she just preferred doing things the muggle way. She found her eyes watching the swaying of the reeds outside; it seemed the wind had picked up, letting them blow around lazily. The milk was done and it now rested tightly between her palms; her body slightly slumped in the wooden chair due to fatigue. Hermione cupped the hot drink, sipping it slowly; not letting it burn her tongue. She calmly watched the steam rise up off the fiery liquid, only to vanish slowly as it elevated;

That's when she noticed it.

Upon the far end of the table, her jacket lay draped over one of the chairs. Hermione tilted her head to the side in confusion; had she not hanged it up along with the rest of the coats and fleeces. Rising form her chair she walked slowly toward the piece of clothing; something about it didn't seem right, and as soon as Hermione reached for it, she saw why. The pink jacket was covered in dirt and grime, not how she remember it looking when she put it away, and upon the left side of it, the faded dusty rose colour had turned a crimson red; it was blood. She touched it lightly with her fingers; it was also, fresh.

The creaking of floor boards from the next room snapped Hermione from her observations. She froze. Her eyes couldn't seem to take themselves away from the space where the kitchen met the lounge; she desperately tried not to let the fear dispersing inside her take its hold. The wind grew stronger outside; howling like a wolf at the moon and the stars seemed to fade slightly, shying away from the night. Silence encased the room as she made the first move towards the lounge; drawing her wand quicker than she had ever before.

"who's there?" it came out as a feeble whisper; certainly not how she hoped.

Seconds passed; still no answer.

By now, alarm bells were ringing violently in her head warning her not to take a step further but she ignored them; her curious and stubborn nature outmatched the fear within her. Whatever or whoever this was, injured or not, wasn't going to get the better of her. With determination Hermione crossed the threshold and submerged herself into the darkness of the lounge.

* * *

Her foot steps were light upon the wooden floor; the less noise the better, she thought. Hermione gripped her wand even tighter as she cast a lumos, brightening the shadowy corners hiding away from unwanted eyes. Her gaze panned the room cautiously looking for anything amiss but spotted nothing, nothing at all. She almost started to believe she was imagining things until a hand shot out of nowhere, silencing her scream of terror, as it enclosed her mouth from behind,

"Shhhh!" the stranger ordered. The voice was so familiar it scared her; it was soft-hearted, clear-cut and definitely female, "You're going to wake the whole bloody house up"

Hermione stood stock still; unwilling to turn round but somehow found the courage to move her legs once more. Not long after she had calmed down, the hand upon her mouth loosened as she turned to face the unidentified woman. A scream nearly escaped her throat again had it not been for the shock, leaving her speechless.

The woman was her.

It was like looking into a mirror. Although her clothes were covered in mud and Merlin knows what, and her hair was wilder then she could ever remember , ever feature, every blemish and freckle identical to her own, apart from the masses of cuts and dried blood that adjourned her face and arms,

"You're … me … and I'm … you"

Hermione couldn't seem to get the words out of her mouth. It was too much for her too contemplate in such a short space of time; too over whelming. She felt weak as the knees and her head became faint as she slumped into the nearest seat for some stability. Her twin shuffled down next to her upon the floral sofa, groaning is pain as she did. It was not until then, did Hermione notice the long, deep gash upon her side that was bleeding profusely through the poorly wrapped bandages. Hermione's eyes caught her twins; the will, determination and fiery attitude they always held was extinguish by the agony and sorrow that clouded them. Her twin smiled sadly and begun with the short but not so sweet tale of why she was here,

"Yes, I am you, though I'm a different version from a different time. Now, I know what you're thinking, and yes, I know its forbidden to talk to your past or future selves at the risk of damaging the space time continuum, but this is an emergency" her twin sucked in a shaky breath and pressed her hand tighter against her fatal wound,

"I'm … I'm dying"

Silence surrounded both of them. There were no words to be said, and if there were, Hermione didn't know what to say. She desperately wished she could aid her fellow self but with the rate she was bleeding it was only a little while before she would be gone, forever.

"I know you want to help but there's nothing you can do now" of course she knew herself better than she thought; she was Hermione and Hermione was her, "there's things I need to tell you before I go, very important things, and I need you to listen to me carefully." She sucked in another trembling breath, "I was sent on a mission by Dumbledore contained in a letter given to me, by the Minister, from Dumbledore's will" Hermione frowned in confusion,

"How come I was given no such letter in my time?"

"That's the thing, I really don't know. Dumbledore was such a brilliant man after all I'm surprised he didn't come up with the plan sooner in any of the other dimensions …" Hermione's eyes widened,

"Other dimensions? How many times have you visited me ... well, Hermione?" her twin waved her question away,

"That's not important right now. What you need to know is what was written within the letter." She drew in another painful breath and checked her wound, eyes drifting to the clock before settling back to Hermione's again, "I don't have much time" she adjusted herself in her seat before continuing, "He spoke of a way to end the war through time travel."

Hermione's mind was reeling at this point. She was soaking in this new information faster than she could organise it, and then, suddenly, all the pieces of this strange puzzle fit together;

"Dumbledore asked you to go back and kill Voldemort, before his rise to power, didn't he?"

"Yes … he did" her eyes closed as if she was recalling an unwanted memory; one that was still raw and tender, "but, I learnt a few things that made me change my mind"

"What?" She smiled at Hermione knowingly,

"I … You'll find out soon enough" ending on that, she carefully stood up, toddled over to her satchel hidden away by the stairs,

"Since I know, I expect you know what Harrys prophecy states; his power to vanquish the Dark Lord" yes, Hermione knew the prophecy quite well;

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … _

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal … _

_But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … _

_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … _

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …_

It was a rather chilling prophecy one she would never forget and one Harry took better than she thought he would, but considering the circumstances at the time he hadn't had much time to contemplate it within the department of mysteries. Her duplicate again stumbled back into the room with some sort of object wrapped up scruffily in brown paper, "but that was not the only prophecy made" unwrapping the string holding the secretly covered object, Hermione could now see that, within her shaky palms, she was holding her own prophecy. Her fate, her life rested in her hands and she could only stare at the midnight blue orb with awe and trepidation. One should not have such a power, such an insight into their future so easily in reach. The substance within the glass ball begun to swirl and thicken as it recognised the hands of its owner. And, all too soon, she was unprepared for what the voice had to say;

_She shall show him the path of light …_

_Give to him what others cannot …_

_Mean to him what others will never …_

_Only then, can the chosen one succeed …_

_Only then, will he have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord …_

She still couldn't take her eyes off of it even after it had finished chanting those equally chilling words. Her other self, the prophecy; It was all too much, too soon. She turned to her duplicate self with questions in her eyes,

"What do I do? … Where do I go from here?" Hermione for once did not have the answers to her own questions. Within the house her friends slumbered on soundly, unaware of all that was going on down below. As the grand clock rung out, signalling the devil's hour, she once again met the eyes of her twin,

"To go forward, dear Hermione, we must first go back …"


	2. one life ends, another begins

**Thank you DaisyWillLiveForever, BrightestWitchOfHerAge16, classycarnage and H. Lokidottir for your reviews and everyone else for following and adding my story to your favourites. **

**This is a minor filler until I can figure out what route I'm going to take next with this story. But until then, I hope you enjoy ...**

**Disclaimer: I, sadly, don't own Harry Potter and the rest of the franchise ... but if I did, I wouldn't be writing this now, would I ...**

* * *

Something wasn't right.

Harry shifted in his sheets uncomfortably, all the while Ron snoozed on; all wrapped up warm in the bed beside him. He didn't know how to explain it, but he had this off notion; it was almost a calm before the storm type feeling, as if, at any moment, something was going to happen; something that was going to destroy the equilibrium they had worked so hard to rebuild over the past few days.

And he didn't like the feeling one bit.

Harry pulled back the miss match sheets, slipping on his socks and, making sure to be as quiet as possible, he made his decent down to the kitchen. He didn't know why he was going there; what was so special about the Weasley's family kitchen? But, something in the darkness was drawing him that way; pulling at him, pushing him onwards. He passed by Ginny's room and noticed the door wide open; certainly not how it normally was. With wand in hand, he tiptoed to the entrance of their room in case both were still asleep, yet, to his surprise, there was no sign of Hermione at all. Her bed covers were hanging off the mattress and the wardrobe door was ajar; maybe she went to get a glass of water? Still, in the back of his mind the uneasy feeling gnawed at him as he continued downwards. The crooked house creaked and groaned at him with each step he took, as if it were warning him not to go on. All the while, Harry got closer to the ground floor until he could see the warm glow of the kitchen lights shining through the banisters,

"Hermione, is that you?" the silence that followed made him question his assumption. Again he asked,

"Hermione?"

Harry was met with silence again. Fear settled unwantedly in his gut as he quickened his pace until, finally, he reached the top of the flight of stairs.

The sight before Harry numbed him to the core.

There, at the bottom of the stairs, lay Hermione draped upon the stone floor half soaked in her own blood. It was so quiet that you could hear the wind whistling outside as it blew through the reeds, like it was humming a lullaby. The soft lighting gave her skin a peachy glow, giving the impression that she were still alive; still saveable, but Harry knew better. There was no sign of a struggle or intrusion; chairs were in their rightful places, bit and bobs upon their respective shelves. It was if she had gone to sleep, and just, never woken up. Her once rich, chocolate brown eyes full of life seemed dull and diluted, staring at him as grey as a stormy sky. Harry had been acquainted with death since his birth, but now as he looked down upon the empty and lifeless face of his best friend, he hated himself; hated the way death followed him wherever he may be. Nothing mattered much now; Hermione was the glue that kept them together- the light in the dark.

Battling his shaky knees Harry, somehow, made it down the stairs. Hidden tears rolled along his cheeks as he gave way and crumbled to the floor besides her; letting all his anger, his pain, his sorrow out with a silent cry into the night. He held her head with one hand and her upper body in the other, cradling her dead form. And after his cries subsided, with lips still trembling, he kissed her pale forehead wishing that, when the sun came up, the next day would bring them a miracle.

* * *

_Only minutes before …_

"To go forward, dear Hermione, we must first go back…"

The meaning of those words struck Hermione like ring of a bell; sharp and clear,

"What about Harry and Ron, the Order, the Horcruxes … I can't just leave them stranded like this?" the reality of it all came crashing back to her, "You and I both know how hopeless those boys will be without me"

Her duplicate chuckled a little at the truth of it, before the pain rushed back again; turning it into a wince,

"It's something you must do to save them; to save them all." was her only reply,

Hermione hmmed in response; such a decision was too great a burden to bear. All those lives she could save, the time she could give back to people; it was the right decision to make. Yet, she was apprehensive and reluctant to go. With the option of Killing Voldemort off the table, her task now was a difficult one; she would have to befriend him instead. The mere thought of it made her feel slightly nauseated, but, after what Harry told her about Voldemort as a adolescent- then Tom Riddle, she knew she wasn't going to be forced to cosy up with something that looked like Medusas half-brother. Harry had mentioned he was similar looking to him in some ways; sable hair, emerald eyes and pale skin, though taller and obviously, a much darker persona,

"Will I ever get to come home?" her question hung in the air; her last chance to get out. The other Hermione nodded silently before answering,

"When your task is done, you will return."

"When will I know?" Her duplicates hands reached round, unclasping the hook upon the necklace she wore and placed it atop Hermione's palms; holding them tightly as she did so,

"This necklace will take you there and back. However, there will be no warning, no sign; it will transport you back when you are no longer needed"

Hermione cast her gaze to the small clock necklace that rest upon her still shaky hands. It was of an intricate design made from brass and decorated with the most detailed of markings. It looked to be hundreds of years old; most probably a family heirloom. Thought it had little nicks and scratches here and there, it was one of the most beautiful things Hermione had ever seen. The watch itself did not tell the time, for no numerical markings were present upon it. After studying the object with her hands with more detail, she noticed that it had two dials. One dial was normally associated with changing the time of a watch, but this watch did not tell the time; how odd,

"Why are there two?"

"One to go forward" she pointed to the right dial with trembling finger tips, "and one to go back" she then touched the left, "though the number of turn times are different to that of a time turner" Hermione watched her face as she spoke; it seemed to get paler and paler with every word. Her twin's life was fading fast; so little time was left,

"You said that when the task is done, I will return … why did you not return?"

The small smile upon her twins face dropped instantly,

" … I mean … that's why you're here isn't it; you failed and so you're passing the task onto me … "

"I am here because my fate rested upon a choice; either join his death eaters … or die" she removed her hand from her wound to look at it, like a visual memory, "as you can see, I chose the latter"

Another round of silence passed over them. It was official then; she was going to go back in time to save Tom Riddle from himself. She sighed internally at the ridiculousness of it all, but, if this was what she had to do, then so be it. It was not long before her fellow self spoke up again,

"Time is of the essence; let's get you on your way then"

She made her way to stand, but wavered a little before collapsing back onto the couch. Hermione looked over to her wound, only to discover her complete left side crimson red. She hurriedly placed the necklace over her head and helped her duplicate self up and off the couch; holding her close and keeping her stable. The two made their way to the front door, passing the stairs as they did, but, before Hermione could turn the corner her twin collapsed upon the stone floor; head hitting the end step with a thud and her chest heaving violently as she tried to gain air. She was slipping away, nearly gone; mere moments of life left,

"Take this …"

Her voice was becoming breathless now; her lungs straining as she lie upon the floor. Hermione kneeled down and pulled out the piece of parchment from her soaked jean pocket, "it will tell you the rest you need to know …" Hermione held onto her hand tightly, as though she was trying to pull her back from the clutches of death,

"And Hermione …" she nodded wordlessly; her eyes boring deep into her dying self's own,

"… 3 turns should do it ..."

… And just like that, she was gone.


	3. too late to turn back

**Sorry for the long wait everyone, but I'm back now and the chapters will continue to come and hopefully quicker this time.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the rest of the franchise **

* * *

It is a strange thing watching yourself die; Hermione didn't quite know what to do or how to feel. It was as if she was a shadow upon the wall; always present, but not really flesh and feeling, just an entity. Though she didn't cry for her other self, a wavy of solitude hit her deep; gnawing and biting as her insides like an icy flame. She felt cold, numb, detached; it was an oddly painful, but painless feeling at the same time. The need to reach out, to not be alone in this twisted turn of fate was powerful. Though the voice in her head, telling Hermione that this task was appointed to her and her alone, that it was her duty to protect the people she loved; even if that meant leaving them stranded in a time of need, was just as powerful, if not more. She had no choice now; she needed to leave, quickly too, for the sounds of creaking floorboards and shuffling feet echoed from upstairs.

Pocketing the letter in her hand, Hermione looked into the glassy eyes of her dead self and made a promise to not forsake her, before scurrying off to the broom closed to fetch her emergency satchel. Being prepared for the worst, as depressing as the thought was, was something Hermione found herself good, if not great at. It took only a few seconds of rummaging through the unexpected clutter before her hand gripped the bags familiar leather straps and bold brass buckles. With a swift yank, the satchel broke free from the messy disarray; silently she set it down upon the kitchen table. Another creak, louder this time, came from upstairs;

Hermione froze.

She was seriously running out of time. With inaudible breath, she managed to tread noiselessly past the kitchen, satchel shouldered, and headed to collect her coat from where it hung by the back door. Wriggling her feet into her boots, Hermione turned to face the burrow for, what may be, the last time. The warmth it radiated came not from the heat of the fire or the wands of others, but from the love of the family homed within it; all the memories, good and bad, surfaced once more, bringing tears to her eyes, which trickled down her soft cheeks. This place was somewhere Hermione had felt safe and secure; a second home. She would never forget it, nor the people within it. She grasped the handle to the back door, clutching it like it was a lifeline, before turning the metal slowly. She paused, one foot poised to step over the threshold, when she heard her name being called;

"_Hermione, is that you?"_

It was Harry; had he seen her leaving?

"_Hermione?" _

Her hand released the door knob and her booted foot came to rest upon the floor once again. She longed to call out to him, to confide in him, but knew he would soon see what he thinks will be her, dead and bloody, upon the bottom of the stairs. Maybe it was better this way; him thinking she was dead and had not disappeared or ran like a coward; for which she doubted anyone would think she was. Maybe Harry thinking she was dead will make it simpler for her to let go of this present, this time and the memories she will be leaving behind.

Hermione made out the sound of shaky, uneven footsteps upon the wood, of a weight dropping to the floor, and of hushed, barely contained sobs, and suddenly, it felt like someone had ripped out her heart and crushed it in their palm. The sound of Harry grieving for her was hollowing; something that made her sick to her stomach. She looked up to face in his direction, her watery eyes could barely make out his shadowed figure, as she whispered a weeping apology, before turning the door handle and stepping out into the bitter winds of the night.

* * *

Hermione was smart to leave the burrow quickly behind her, for soon more lights illuminated the remote dwelling and the cries of mourning filled the house like a haunting choir, and before she knew it, she was running. Running as if Dementors were at her heels, and the tears didn't seem to want to stop. Their saltiness, mixed with the cold wind, stung her eyes, but she pressed on until she was no longer running through boggy fields, but found herself in patchy woodland.

The trees were gnarled and warped. There was no green vegetation or animal life; all was still and looming. It was like something from a fairy tale; a typical dark and eerie forest. Hermione crumpled upon a nearby tree stump to catch her breath back; wiping away the last of her tear trails with her chilled hands. Digging into her jean pocket she tugged out the now crumpled piece of parchment. Upon opening it, she noted that it was the letter from Dumbledore's Will her duplicate had mentioned. With inquisitive eyes, Hermione began reading;

_To Miss. Hermione Jean Granger,_

_This letter must be read by you, and you alone. _

_In the event of my death, I have safeguarded important information to ensure Mr. Potters survival. However, over the last few years the Dark Lords bond has comsumed him more than I foretold. _

_I fear what is to come._

_And so, within your hands I must place a great burden; the means to an end. __What I am asking of you is dangerously foolish; there is a high chance you may not return. To put it plainly, Miss. Granger, Lord Voldemort must be destoryed in the past, to make certain our future._

___I shall be truthful with you. _

___I have written many wrongs in my lifetime, but this, I fear, can not be undone; not by me alone._

_Enclosed within this letter I have placed two objects, one you will be highly familiar with, though it is something I have not had to retrieve for a very long time. The other is a rather precious family heirloom; a Gimmal time-ticker. This device will get you to where you need to be. _

_Use each wisely for there are few who know of their existence; some of whom, could wield great and terrible things with such power. _

_You are capable of more than you know, Miss. Granger. Dark times lie ahead of you and there will be a time when you must choose between what is easy and what is right. Remember, you are never truly alone; only when you close all the doors and make darkness within, will you forget who you really are._

_P.S- 3 turns on the left dial should do the trick. Good luck, Hermione._

She re-read the letter 3 more times. Most of the information she already knew, but one thing seemed amiss; the second object. She gathered that the family heirloom, this Gimmal time-ticker, was the necklace-watch that hung from around her neck but the other object she did not possess. She wondered is her duplicate may have the object on her or hidden away for safe keeping, but concluded that if it was of such importance she doubted her own self would be as insensible and scatter-brained as Neville Longbottom; it was unlike her to forget. Sighing in frustration, she would just have to continue on without this mysterious item.

With heavy limbs, she climbed atop the worn stump and clasped the necklace between her trembling fingers. It was now or never, she told herself, and with that though in mind, she turned the left dial three times as instructed and braced herself for what may come.

* * *

Blackness; all that followed was blackness. As if she could touch it, smell it, taste it; until it became so thick Hermione thought she was swimming in it. And soon, her weak body succumbed to its eager embrace; drowning her in shadow,

And as quickly as it came; it was gone.

A sudden burst of bright light pulled her from the sinking depths; whispering words of comfort. The light embraced her, surrounded her; so brilliant and so intense, she almost though she was in heaven, or some form of it. She let the light take her and unconsciousness fell upon Hermione once more.

It was dark again when she opened her eyes.

The rain softly pattered against the towering arched windows and the distant clacking of shoes echoed off the stone walls and floor. The room itself was scarily familiar; same scratchy grey sheets and matching medical curtains. It was then that the events of the past few hours came violently rushing back to her and the need to throw up whatever content lay in the pit of her stomach came with it. Finding an empty bowl beside her bed, Hermione retched up the ugly mess until her throat burned and her ribs hurt. Setting the bowl down beside her, she sunk as deep as she could into the covers and lay in thought. Judging by her surroundings, she found herself in Hogwarts hospital wing. Odd, she thought, since she did not remember coming here, let alone being conscious at all. She concluded that she must have been brought here, but by whom she had no clue, though, she assumed, she would eventually found out.

Soon daylight began to peak through the window opposite, the heat warmed her face; creating a reddish glow from behind her closed eyelids. And suddenly it was gone, blocked out by an unknown figure,

"Do you mind?"

The mildly annoyed remark popped out before she had time to put a cap on it. The figure shifted and soon the warm glow settled upon her face once more. Cracking an eye open, she gasped at the sight of her recently deceased headmaster standing before her in all his glory,

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore just laughed off her question as if she were a drunkard. He was, near enough, exactly how she remembered him; still tall but less wrinkled, with light blue eyes sparkling behind half-moon spectacles, except his hair and beard was a light brown with silver flecks here and there, different from how it was, and it wasn't yet long enough to tuck into his belt.

"No, my dear, I am not the headmaster" he casually fiddled with the ends of his beard, "I am merely a professor here at this school; Armando Dippet is the one you are looking for."

Bloody hell, she had done it; she had travelled back through time. Though Hermione had the feeling she was right, it was all still quite shocking to her,

"_Merlins beard ..."_

The inaudible whisper slipped passed her lips without her noticing. She had made it, all in one piece too, and here she was talking to a man she knew to be dead, around 50 years into the past; the nausea started to return again. The clearing of a throat snapped her from her trail of though, as the man beside her addressed her once more,

"Now my dear, I have a few questions to adress. Firstly, may I ask to what were you doing in the lake?"

"The lake?"

"Yes, the lake. Our Headboy found you washed up upon its shore in the early hours of the morning. A rather odd discovery, don't you think?" one of his eyebrows quirked up and there was that familiar twinkle in his eye; "However, what I am most interested in is the necklace you have upon your person. Such an unusual design; not something one often comes by."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her sheets. She had forgotten about the necklace, now hanging limply from her neck. Sitting up straight, she unclasped it and handed it over for him to inspect,

"I know what it is and what it can do. And before you say otherwise, I did not steal it, nor did stumble upon it"

Dumbledore handed the device back to her carefully. His eyes locked with hers once more. He unclasped the top few buttons on his robe to reveal the exact same necklace around his own neck,

"I know you did not steal it, my dear. But that does not solve the mystery of how you came by the exact same device."

Redoing his buttons, Hermione sighed internally; weighing up her options. If there was one person she could trust with such confidential information, Dumbledore was probably the most likely. She looked to him with uncertain eyes. It may not be simple to explain, but was it the right choice to make? Brushing off any fears and doubts, she turned to face him once again; far more confident in her decision,

"Professor, there are things I need to tell you, I … I may not be able to tell you the whole truth, but what I can tell you is as true as you and I, here and now." taking in an uneasy breath, she started from the beginning,

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger... and I am from the future."


	4. Riddle me this

**Again, sorry about the wait everyone. It seems I'm busier than I originally thought.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the rest of the franchise**

* * *

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger... and I am from the future"

Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable. Now, as Hermione begun to reiterate such important events in her own life, she realised what little time she truly had to sit down and think on them herself. One minute she was warming milk, the next she was 50 years in the past; sent on an impossible quest to save the Wizarding world. Taking a deep breath, Hermione sat up in the bed a little straighter, deciding how to continue,

"I was sent here by you, in the future, to change that fate of another; one of the students here at Hogwarts. I know you're thinking this probably wasn't one of your wisest of decisions, but it was our last resort, sir. You see, we were at war with an enemy who was outmatching us at every turn. However, we had hope in a boy …"

Hermione broke off for a fraction of a moment, thoughts of Harry surfacing again; the years rolling by. The trio together- such memories of joy and anguish. Her throat constricted and the familiar well of salty tears told her it was time to stop reminiscing, that was until she happened upon the image of Harry with unbearable pain in his eyes, as he cradled her dead form. Hermione bowed her head, in shame. _I shouldn't have left like that_, she told herself, _not like that, not after all we have been through together_. Pulling herself out from that darker place and she proceeded onwards,

"He was prophesised to destroy the enemy, but the bond they shared… this mental connection; it was starting to take its toll on him. We were losing not only the war, but the people we loved too. This enemy, used to be a student here at Hogwarts. You believed that if we went to the start of the problem, to the root of it, we may be able to stop the war, before it even begins. And so here I am, saving the past, to protect the future."

Hermione couldn't tell whether he was impressed or appalled by his own judgment call made 50 years from now. His demeanour had changed during her speech; his expression stony as he stood in thought. With her head still bowed, Hermione realised her hands, once steady in her lap, were now trembling noticeably atop the dull sheets. Trying not to let it affect her, she shoved them under the bedspread, exhorting away all feelings of the past. _Don't think about it_, she reminded herself, _this is your life now_, _until the task is done, this is -_

"Miss. Granger, are you quite alright?"

Dumbledore's voice snapped her out of her unsettled emotional turmoil,

"Yes, sir, I'm-" she exhaled slowly, "… I'm fine"

He eyed her dubiously for a moment before looking out the stretched arched windows, watching the slow trickling of rain upon the frosted glass,

"This is much to digest in so short a time … However, I believe what you speak is nothing but the truth."

A knowing smile graced his lips bringing comfort. Hermione returned the gesture with ample appreciation and gratitude,

"Thank you, sir."

He nodded silently in acknowledgement of her gratefulness,

"Now Miss. Granger, as your business in the past is of the upmost importance, I suggest, once you are fully rested of course, we enrol you into the school" he paused, "Do you know which student it is that is to become our future foe?"

Grimacing, Hermione nodded,

"I believe you already have an idea too, sir"

Again, his eyes flickered to the rain for a moment. There was a difficult past between Voldemort and Dumbledore; one that no one really knew much about. At first, it had seemed that during Voldemort's adolescent years Dumbledore was unaware of his intentions. But now, seeing Dumbledore standing before her, she came to the conclusion that, though unaware of Riddle's true intentions he may have been, Dumbledore was not ignorant to the darkness that lay dormant within the boy. Hermione realised that Dumbledore had watched Riddle grow into this monster, always hoping he would make a different choice; hoping he would see the light and not wander into the dark. The thought was saddening,

"Yes, I do, Miss. Granger" he turned to face her, "However; I wanted a different path for him. Now I see his fate may be inevitable."

"That's why I'm here, sir; to undo what cannot be undone."

He looked her over, noting her sudden defiant posture and determined expression. A smile ghosted the corners of his wrinkling lips,

"Well then, I shall go speak to Headmaster Dippet about your enrolment. In the meantime, rest up my dear, you have a long journey ahead of you and it shall not be easy, not by any means …"

Dumbledore spoke his goodbyes, leaving Hermione to ponder on how exactly she was going to befriend the enemy. Making friends was something she was surprisingly good at, considering the muggleborn hate that followed her everywhere like her own shadow. Yet Voldemort, from her understanding, was more sociopathic and a bit of a misanthropist. She doubted a simple hug would do the trick; though it might send him into shock. Judging from snippets of information passed on by Harry, Hermione could sense that Voldemort's past was a huge catalyst for the choices that moulded him into the Dark Wizard he turned out to be. She knew his past life had been filled with loneliness and little love but she always thought he deserved it, being the murderous tyrant she knew. However, when she noticed a brief look of disappointment, of failure on Dumbledore's face as he stared upon the rain, she had a revelation that maybe Voldemort, well, Tom Riddle, didn't have a fully black heart; maybe something was still salvageable.

The clacking of many shoes disrupted her; realising that the students must be off to their morning lessons. Memories of her years at Hogwarts bloomed; the smell of fresh parchment and leather bound books being the most prominent. A slow grin spread across her lips in honour of such memories. Scooching back under the covers, Hermione tried to get some more sleep to help calm her forming headache and relieve the diminishing nausea the morning had greeted her with.

* * *

It was around midday when Hermione roused once again. She stretched out her limbs across the bed like a lazy cat, enjoying the peace; momentarily forgetting where she was and why she was there. That was, until a clearing of the throat brought her out of the fantasy, for at the end of her bed stood a rather handsome looking stranger. She did a double take; almost mistaking him for Harry as the resemblance was uncanny; sable hair, pale complexion with haunting green eyes. However, this was not Harry and that thought saddened her a little. Hermione eyed him up and down; not knowing what to expect. He was dressed in Slytherin robes which seemed almost unworn; no dust marks, creases or fraying. His shoes, from what she could see, were immaculate and polished brightly. His hair was swept to the side neatly, going along with its natural kinks and waves. However, everything about him seemed too perfect; too fake. Something wasn't right, something was out of place; it made Hermione uneasy,

"My name is Tom Riddle; I'm the Headboy here at Hogwarts."

Oh Merlin! How Hermione wished the ground would swallow her up this instant. By now, anyone could see the colour, slowly, draining from her face as she look up at Riddle with eyes bulged out. She could not believe it; the Dark Lord was standing no less than 3 or 4 meters away from her. But her disbelief soon dissipated. The sudden remembrance of all that he had done to her; had done to them- it left behind something more primal; Rage. Though she knew she could not kill him, it didn't stop her from wanting to hex him into oblivion. Hermione had to clench her fists to stop herself from grabbing her wand. All the while, Riddle continued with his charming introduction; if he had noticed her sudden tensing, he did not say,

"Headmaster Dippet has requested that I bring you to his office, so that you may begin your enrolment. Afterwards, I shall accompany you round the school grounds so that-"

"-I would prefer if you didn't."

She cut him off, rather abruptly, with teeth tightly ground together. He looked startled for a moment but recovered instantly. His eyes narrowing at her venomously,

"You know, it is considered rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking to you" his eyes narrowed even further, he stepped closer; one eye giving a slight twitch, "However I shall let this matter slide, since you are in such a _fragile _condition. Though, I am intrigued as to why my company is not wanted? You have, after all, only met me for what, a minute or so."

Hermione pushed herself out of the bed forcefully, straightening her clothing, wishing that she had not let her anger get the better of her. It was a stupid move, letting such a remark slip. Biting her tongue, she tried to cover her tracks,

"Because I'm not a people person", _at least not when you're concerned_, "and would prefer to find my own way round; without a _tour guide_"

His nostrils flared at her last words. _Bad move Mione_, a Ron like voice chided her in her mind. Acting fast she went with a different approach,

"Look, Riddle, I can see that you want to chaperone me around about as much as I want to be chaperoned" she sighed frustratedly, looking him straight in the eye, "let's just go to see Dippet and we'll take it from there."

Riddle surveyed her form with mild hostility. Her reaction towards him was most peculiar; however it had done nothing to satisfy his growing curiosity. Though her rude outburst will be paid for; he would make sure of it. But at the present time, it was best if the new student did not know of his true capability, in time though, he would make sure she did,

"It would be wise of you to take note that I do _NOT like_ being ordered."

He moved closer to Hermione still; invading her personal space. Now she did start to feel the beginnings of fear, creep up her spine like a snake,

"However…" he stopped half a meter away from Hermione; looming over her petit form, "your suggestion is agreeable. Let us proceed then to the Headmasters office."

Ending on that, Riddle turned on his heel and sauntered out of the hospital wing with a rather anxious and irritated Hermione trailing after him unwantedly.

* * *

The journey to Dippet's office was done in silence. Hermione thought it best to avoid further conversation with Riddle as her anger seemed to flare every time he spoke. Though the choice of killing him was all too tempting, she had to keep reminding herself of what her duplicate told her;

_"Dumbledore asked you to go back and kill Voldemort, before his rise to power, didn't he?"_

_"Yes … he did. But, I learnt a few things that made me change my mind"_

_"What?" _

_"I … You'll find out soon enough"_

What things had she learned; what things had she witnessed that had changed her view upon the wizard, walking mere meters in front of Hermione at this very moment. Her eyes watched his movements while he glided across the stone floors of Hogwarts; as if he owned the castle itself. Every inch of him was perfectly disguised to fool anyone into thinking he was the virtuous and considerate student she expected Dippet, and many of the other teachers, believed him to be. Hermione, however, could see right through this act; she knew what he was,

… Or did she?

Again, the words of her alternate self plagued her. Was there really more to Riddle than layers of darkness leading to a cold heart at the core? She didn't know if she wanted to venture into such deep thinking at that time. However, if there was; would she be able to drive away that dark? And if so, would the impact be long term, or not? Voldemort certainly wasn't known for his good behaviour and charitable work. But, if she was able to change him for the better; to help him choose the other path- would he want to let the light in?

Yes, Tom Riddle was a riddle indeed …


End file.
